


Where you belong

by Lightning070



Series: Tales of two Space Warriors and their Green Womprat [5]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Badass Cara Dune, Badass Din Djarin, Bounty Hunters, Din djarin is a sap, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fights, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Keldabe Kiss, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Platonic Relationships, Protective Cara Dune, Sorry Not Sorry, Teamwork, The Helmet Stays On, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Whump, but not so platonic, cara dune takes the lead, din djarin is a dork, not actually misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27850426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightning070/pseuds/Lightning070
Summary: Din draws a breath, and it hurts his ribs.The three Trandoshans are sprawled at their feet, dead in a pool of their own, green blood. It’s been a close call. So close he feels the danger still searing his skin, telling him they should both be dead.[I needed fluff // Fearsome (but reckless) duo // Din is an emotional disaster //  It literally takes them near-death experiences to understand how much they care about each other // English is not my first language!]
Relationships: Caradin, Din Djarin/Cara Dune
Series: Tales of two Space Warriors and their Green Womprat [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091606
Comments: 28
Kudos: 159





	Where you belong

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for... this. It's been a very rough day and I just needed to vent out some negative feelings through fluff.  
> Hope you'll enjoy the nonsense sappiness anyway, and leave a kudos if you do ♥
> 
> I'm sure the verbs are a mess here, feel free to point out any mistakes!

It’s been a dirty, savage fight.

Din can feel the blood drying on his flight suit, and the sore halo of a blaster shot slowly expanding on his lower ribs. He has a couple of slashes on his legs too, throbbing with pain and a probable infection. He hears Cara’s labored breathing just beside him and he sees the nasty, three-fanged scratch on her upper arm, the way her hair is tangled with blood and sweat, plastered in ringlets to her face and neck.

She clings to her blaster like it’s the only thing still keeping her upright, just as he's clinging to his vibroblade. He draws a deep breath, and it hurts his ribs.

The three Trandoshans are sprawled at their feet, dead in a pool of their own, green blood. It’s been a close call. So close he feels the danger still searing his skin, telling him they should both be dead. The three monstrous lizards almost ripped them to shreds. They both underestimated them; they were cocky and high on the elation of a fight, too confident in their teamwork and prowess. Too reckless.

They could’ve paid that arrogance with their lives. They haven’t just because they really _are_ fearsome together, and they both fiercely fended for each other. One Trandoshan would’ve clawed his throat out, had Cara not charged him headfirst and shot him point-blank in the face. The other would’ve crushed her skull to a pulp, had he not shivved him in the nape, drawing the vibroblade to the hilt, raw on primal, protective instincts.

The last and bigger one almost overpowered them both, blind with rage for the loss of his brothers. It’s taken them a coordinated effort to take him down for good, and it has cost them more bruises and cuts and contusions. More risks, more blood, more panicked glances every time one of them was brushed by death.

He swallows hard. Adrenaline still floods his vein, but it’s wearing out, leaving him limp with exhaustion. He turns to Cara right just as she does and gives her a small nod, which she returns. _It’s over_.

He sheathes his blade and approaches her, as relief mingles with adrenaline and weariness in a drowsy mix.

They’re alive. They’re _both_ still alive. The Child waits for them on the _Crest_. Along with a hearty meal. Warm, clean water to wash off their filth. And a bunk they’ll probably just collapse in, too fatigued to really care about personal boundaries. Just another, regular day for their bounty-hunting partnership. Which could've come to an end today.

He tries to relish the victorious feeling he should embrace. The proud accomplishment following a hard fight and a hard-earned victory: that’s the moment every Mandalorian strives for. _This is the Way_ , or at least it should be.

But he only manages to think how _close_ they’ve gotten this time. To losing each other. Or die, both of them, leaving the Child alone.

“Are you okay?” he asks, still breathless, though that’s a relative self-evident question.

She nods, holsters her blaster, and leans forward with her hands bracing her knees. “You?”

“Yes,” he just says, his voice slightly brittle due to his still trembling muscles. “Can you walk?”

“I don’t know. Can _you_ walk?” she bounces back at him.

Seconds later they’re walking alongside, both with one arm slung around each other as they try to muster enough strength and balance to get back to the _Crest_ in one piece. They leave the deserted village that has almost become their resting place, and head into the surrounding, barren plains.

“This was a close one,” Cara says, after a while, and her wit only partly covers how actually serious she is.

“Too close,” he almost croaks in return, tightening his grip on her shoulder – she does the same on his side.

“We should think it through, next time.”

“Yes. We should.”

And that's a sealed deal. No more silly risks. No more reckless stunts. They'll be tempted again maybe: a good warrior is always drawn to his utmost limit. But two good warriors can stop each other before the other walks over the edge.

The _Crest_ finally comes into sight, hidden behind a low, gentle hill. They come to a halt, taking her in.

“We’re home,” Din sighs through a smile, that thought simply slipping off his exhausted tongue.

She does something, then, as if those words have just given her a signal. Something that knocks the air out of his lungs and shreds all the negative feeling clustering behind his ribs; it leaves him almost gaping, in awe, blissfully annihilated by raw emotion.

She turns to him, cups his helmet in both hands and presses her forehead against his own, skin on beskar, her eyes closed. His breath hitches as that single point of invisible pressure draws a burning thread across his entire body, encompassing his inner being with a thousand smaller ones.

He doesn't think; he's unable to. He just leans into her and closes his eyes as well, if just for a moment.

 _Does she know?_ That thought disrupts all the others, sinking in his mind with the sharpness of a doubt.

He guiltily savors the feeling for just a few more seconds, then pulls away, reluctant. Cara looks at him, her brow slightly furrowed, a dimple creasing the corner of her mouth.

He seeks the right words, a task he’s always been awful at. She may have meant it as a sign of simple affection, or closeness, or just as a mindless gesture after the heat and fear of a rough fight. She _definitely_ doesn’t know what a Keldabe kiss is. And she doesn’t know she’s just stolen his first – not that he’d ever stop her. But it doesn’t seem fair. That’s a declaration, a lovers’ intimacy.

He just received something she never meant to give him.

“Cara…” he starts out, tentatively, unsure how to address the fact in a neutral way. “You– what you just did… it means that you–” a sigh interrupts his stuttering.

Then he notices her face. The hint of mirth in her dark, lit-up eyes, her slightly flushed cheeks. It dawns on him as his heart somersaults, twisting knots in his lungs.

“I know what it means.”

Din stares. Speechless. Befuddled. Then, before she can add anything, he leans in and meets her forehead again, more firmly this time, breathing her in. She just smiles, welcoming him and gripping his shoulders as their breathing slowly synchronizes.

He's overwhelmed with a warm, encompassing feeling, gently trickling along his skin and through his veins. He can’t quite place it – but he’s sure it belongs in his chest, just beneath the beskar and beside his heart.


End file.
